


Sweet Blood of Revolution

by Oh_Lumos



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Background Les Amis de l'ABC, Children of Revolution, I Tried, I don't know, Kink Meme, M/M, Montparnasse is lurking, My First Fanfic, One-Sided Attraction, Oneshot, Please sorry, Revolution, and also liked this, but not really sorry, but only first of Les Mis, like some kind of sociopath perv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:36:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Lumos/pseuds/Oh_Lumos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montparnasse has no love for Revolutionaries, but the leader of les amis de l'ABC would make him join his Revolution anytime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Blood of Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> Well, can't believe my first Les Mis fic is of this pairing, because I in true am a big Enjolras/R shipper, but it looked very appealing! This is a fill for the makingHugospin kink meme (http://bit.ly/1mmvFbs)! 
> 
> It has been a long time since I read the book, I love Montparnasse, his character has something, um, juicy (?) about him! But if I wrote him weird, please tell, I can't remember exactly how he is. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

He didn't love Revolutionaries. Half of them had honest jobs, and the other half were in university, so it meant all of them believed themselves better than him and than his group of thieves and cunns. But he had to admit, that the leader of the students, the man with the fierce eyes and strong voice which made you want to listen even if you know the words don't match with how you live and with what you yourself believe, that man made him want to join his Revolution any time. 

Montparnasse believed himself a lover of beauty, and he didn't care the form he found it on, a girl, a man, a corpse. He just liked admiring beauty both in body and soul, he was a poet and sweet words dripped from his mouth to lure people into his own beauty. He didn't like to be an easy catch, he wanted his victims to sob with want before he took them. The problem was, as beautiful as they were, they were all the same, far to easy to convince and far too easy to get rid of, he had become bored of them, so much he had not seduced anyone in almost a month. 

When the Revolution movement started to gain force amongst the people, Montparnasse couldn't care less about the cause they wanted to fight for, he usually just went to the café Musain to stagger along with one of the members and get a copper or two from their coats, but nothing else. He never stayed to listen to speeches, and he never signed up for any kind of activity they came up with, he only took what he wanted, as he always did, and left. That was, until one night, he made it all the way upstairs, where the actual meetings were held. That was where he saw Enjolras for the first time. He couldn't even remember why he had climbed the stairs in the café, he just found himself staring right into the face of a fallen angel, with golden long curls and lips moving with sheer intensity. 

Montparnasse could say he was the leader immediately, with how every pair of eyes in the room was focused on him, and every pair of ears were listening to nothing else but the pure truth they believed came out from his mouth. And Montparnasse found himself enraptured with the words, the voice, the firm movements of the hands that screamed war and freedom. How could so much energy and care for the people fit in such a man, how could so much light could emanate from the face of a human, that it almost turned off every other source of light in the room.

Montparnasse was a poet, and he loved beauty, and his heart was about to burst at the sudden source of his favourite things, all in one person. Enjolras was a fighter, he was passionate, every muscle in him said so, and Montparnasse found himself wanting to be a cause of that passion. He wanted those lips to speak his name with the same eagerness, and he wanted that love for Patria to be focused on him instead. He wanted to share Enjolras's beauty with no one, and have him all to himself, between the sheets, in an alley, however he may. He wanted to feel with his fingers and with his teeth the boiling blood in Enjolras's veins, hot with love for him, and he wanted to give him red roses when he woke up.

Enjolras was beautiful, and all it took was one look to know that it was both inside and outside, he was so pure that he let himself be shown to the world with every word he said without really knowing it. But Montparnasse alone could see all that as it was: a piece of art, his voice a song, his eyes a poem, his body a painting, his mind a story that needed to be told, his soul a sculpture made out of freedom. How he wanted to possess that. He knew he would never be able to, as Enjolras was his own person and a leader, he made people fall for him, he didn't fall for people. But that only made it a better price for Montparnasse. He wanted to own the man, and all he had, and wanted to incarcerate all he was in fear of him going away, even if he didn't have him yet. But he also wanted him to be free, and to freely come to his side, because that's what Enjolras was. 

The pale skin beneath the long red coat of the leader shined with sweat and emotion, and Montparnasse could see red marks left on it by his own teeth. Only one look, and he could feel himself going crazy, his heart beating very fast, the combustion wanting to happen at any time. He had killed before, why not one more time. If anything, wouldn't he help the world a little bit. He would immortalise the beauty of this fearless man, he would make the crimson of his blood meet with the marble white of his skin, and then his body would be a canvas, clean white. He would take him first, and he would be his last, and that would make it all the more poetic. He couldn't have Enjolras, he knew that, but he didn't want anyone to have him, not even the people and his Revolution, not even the King's soldiers and their weapons. He wanted to have Enjolras in every way, and give him the beautiful death he deserved. He wanted to taste his blood, too feel his neck under his fingers, to feel the last breath escaping his lips, with a little of the fervor with which he speaks about justice, mouthing Montparnasse's name, or maybe a plea.  

How he yearned to feel that warmth slowly go cold under his skin.

He didn't love Revolutionaries, but he found himself loving all Enjolras was, in that brief moment in which he listened to him and drank him in.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Please tell!


End file.
